In the Name of Science
by fbis.most.unwanted
Summary: Sherlock loves his experiments, but how long will John's patience last?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"What the hell are you doing?" John entered the flat, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the state of the flat.

Splotches of crimson stained the wall of the kitchen, and Sherlock was standing nearby, pouring over notes as he analyzed the spots –he measured them immediately turned to scrawl something down in a notebook.

Sherlock didn't answer, not that John would have expected him to. The doctor walked into the kitchen to get a better look. Upon closer inspection, John asked, "Is that blood?"

"Yes," Sherlock responded curtly, the hint of annoyance prominent in his voice. He didn't look up from his work; he only kept writing as if nothing had happened. Only Sherlock Holmes could be so nonchalant about the fact that the wall was covered with blood.

"Yeah, I get that," John continued. "Would you care to explain _why _there is blood on our kitchen wall?" John felt like he was disciplining a child, which now that he thought about it, wasn't very far off.

Sherlock sighed loudly, clearly displeased with his task being interrupted. "It's an experiment. I'm measuring blood splatter from different distances." Almost immediately after giving this explanation, Sherlock returned to his experiment. Taking a spoonful of blood from a bowl, he took four steps back and then flung the liquid at the wall. The detective then measured the splatter and began taking more notes.

John watched his flatmate carrying out his work, but John couldn't take his eyes off of the bowl of blood. "Where did you get that much blood?"

"St. Bart's," Sherlock answered.

"You stole blood from a hospital for your experiment?" John said. The lengths this man would go to just for an experiment –something the detective did for _fun_\- never ceased to amaze John. "Sherlock, you cannot take blood from a hospital for your own enjoyment."

"It's not for enjoyment; it's for _science_," Sherlock said. "Besides, it's not like anyone was using it."

John sighed, knowing there wasn't anything more he could do. "I'm not cleaning this up," John grabbed his computer and sank into his chair, trying to ignore the man who played with blood "for science".


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

John was enjoying a good night's sleep until a bloodcurdling scream erupted from somewhere below. He snapped awake almost instantly. Instinctively, the doctor retrieved his gun and flew down the stairs.

Once John reached the bottom of the stairs, he was hardly able to take two steps before he felt someone grab his shoulders.

"Don't move," Sherlock ordered, flipping on the light switch.

When the lights came on, John saw that there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, which was certainly nothing to scream about.

"What?" John asked.

"Don't move," Sherlock said, much more harshly this time. He hated repeating himself. The detective grabbed a notebook off of the kitchen counter. He moved in circles around John, scribbling down little notes about his posture, breathing, and various other deductions regarding John's reaction to the scream.

"Are you taking my pulse?" John asked through gritted teeth, swatting the detective's hand away from his neck.

Sherlock said nothing, only kept taking notes.

"What are you doing?" John snapped, setting his gun down when he knew that there would be no use for it.

"An experiment," Sherlock replied curtly, not wanting to waste time with explanations of work that John would most likely not be able to understand.

"An experiment," John sighed. "It is two thirty in the bloody morning, Sherlock, and you thought now would be a good time for an experiment?"

"What's wrong with now?" Sherlock questioned, finished with his writing.

John took a deep breath as he tried to control his anger, fearing that he might strangle the detective. "Don't you have a case?"

"Solved it a few hours ago," Sherlock answered. "So, unless someone's been murdered since six o'clock, no, I do not have a case."

"I'm going back to bed, and if you wake me up again, don't be surprised if I use my gun," John ascended the stairs and returned to his bedroom, hoping that he would be able to fall back asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Christ, Sherlock, are you trying to kill me?" John shouted from the kitchen, his heart still racing as he removed the dart from the drywall where it had landed just mere centimeters away from his head. "And since when do you throw darts?"

Sherlock removed his blindfold and took the dart out of John's hand before returning to his spot behind John's chair, which faced the recently acquired dart board across the flat.

Sherlock placed the blindfold over his eyes once again. "It's for an experiment. I'm attempting to how closely the human body's differing methods of performing actions in light versus darkness is related to the way bats use sonar to navigate."

The detective threw the dart. Surprisingly, it hit the outer ring of the board with a dull thud. "Did that one hit the board?"

"Yes," John answered. "Why are you asking me?"

"Did it land in the upper right portion of the board, close to the edge?" Sherlock continued. "I want to see if I can tell where it hit using only sound before I take off the blindfold."

"Nope, lower left," John replied.

Sherlock took of the blindfold. Seeing that the dart was, in fact, in the lower left portion of the board, he let out a frustrated sigh and went over to retrieve it.

He retreated to his spot across the flat and covered his eyes for the third time. Sherlock threw the dart again, but this time, he was not able to place where it ended up. The sound of its impact was muffled, not the hollow or rich noise if it hit the wall or board.

John wasn't far from the dart board, which in hindsight, probably was not the best decision. Luckily, he was able to throw up his arm, causing the dart to stick in the sleeve of his jacket.

"Did that one hit the couch?" Sherlock guessed, at the same time removing the blindfold to see if he was right.

"You're done," John snapped as he pulled the dart out of his jacket, snatching the dart board form the wall and making his way to the door so he could dispose of it.

"I'm not finished with the experiment!" Sherlock protested. He was standing closer to the door, which allowed him to get there before John and try to remove the dart and cork board from his arms.

"Yes, you are," John stated firmly. Realizing that there was no way Sherlock was going to let him pass, the doctor simply walked across the flat, opened the window, and sent the contents of Sherlock's experiment spiraling toward the pavement.


End file.
